


Getting Batgirl out of the Batcave

by completelyhopeless



Series: Detective Grayson and Forensic Batgirl [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2883929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Barbara continue their investigation into the possible serial killer. Barbara makes a breakthrough and finds a suspect. Dick proves he was raised by Bruce by being emotionally distant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Batgirl out of the Batcave

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea for the scene on the rooftop and for the one in the squad room before I had my moment of, "no, wait, have to stop now," and while they didn't turn out quite how I'd planned them, I went ahead and put together a bit more and decided to make it a series while I work on things because I run away from chaptered stuff like a coward every time.

* * *

Instead of calling him the rookie, they called him Batboy now.

He ignored it. Barbara had found out quickly that he had a tendency to ignore anything that he didn't want to hear. He laughed it off or pretended it had never happened at all. She wondered if that particular coping mechanism was a part of his time with Wayne or just something he did. The thing about him was that he was always in motion, never still, and she kept expecting him to jump into action or put on a show.

If he did, he'd probably break some of her equipment because he spent most of his days in her lab these days, had ever since she gave him the files. 

Barbara would complain if he wasn't a dedicated cop, the first one who came close to reminding her of her father in his dedication to his work. It helped that he always brought something down with him for her—coffee from Alfred which was the best she'd ever had and she still couldn't figure out why despite putting it through the mass spec and analyzing it several times—or her favorite candy—he'd reminded her that he was a detective when she asked him how he'd known—or food from any number of take-out restaurants.

“You're spoiling me.”

He snorted, reaching over to steal one of her fries—he always brought the least healthy stuff when he showed up late at night—and started chewing on it before speaking. “If I was spoiling you, I'd get you a new mass spectrometer.”

“Not take me out to a fancy dinner and make me dress up?”

He shuddered. “Perish the thought. No, on reconsideration, I'd get you a new computer. One that's still a prototype but won't go extinct in a month. All the bells and whistles and enough processing power to let you hack the NSA or something.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “I'm not a hacker.”

“You just say that because I'd be obligated to arrest you if you were. I've got the badge—”

“I've got a higher security clearance.”

He smiled, and then like he'd flipped a switch, he was all business. He dusted off his hands and pulled out a map. She recognized it as a blow up of the red light district. He'd marked all of the dump sites on it, something she'd done herself a few times. 

“There's no pattern,” she reminded him. “I have been over this more times than I want to think about. The dates, the locations, the time of day, their hair color—natural or dyed—the clothes, their last meals... I can't find a pattern. No link.”

“Other than whenever one of them dies the traffic cameras in the area are conveniently out.”

“Except for that,” she agreed, shaking her head. “It doesn't prove anything. It happens too frequently in that area for anyone to care. Most of the time they don't even notice. Or if they do, they're glad.”

He nodded. “You up for a field trip, Babs?”

Then it was on again, that grin, and she swore she should say no and run in the other direction if she had any good sense, but she wasn't afraid of a little trouble. She usually left field work up to the ones with the badges—they thought they were too good to do her job, but the truth was, she was too good to do theirs—but she might make an exception for Dick.

“What do you have in mind?”

He just kept on grinning and didn't answer.

* * *

“We're here.”

“That mean you will actually tell me what we're doing?” Babs asked, and Dick had to smile. She'd been more patient than he deserved, and he'd been waiting half the night for her to tell him to shove it and head back to her lab.

“In a second,” he said, guiding her over to the edge of the roof. “Behold. The reason why being a private investigator sucks.”

She gave him a look, and he laughed. “I can't tell you how many times I've come up on rooftops like this and sat, through the night and through all kinds of weather—rain is my favorite, really—and just watched. It's amazing how much you see.”

She was still watching him. He supposed he needed to try and explain it better.

“My father always told me I did my best thinking in the air. Bruce didn't like it, but he agreed. He used to bring me out on the roof when we were having trouble with a case. He'd tell me to breathe in the fresh air—I'd always laugh because the city was foul and if it wasn't, he was half the time because he's been in and out of the bottle since I was a kid—and think. I did think. I thought plenty.”

Her eyes were on him, and he saw the wheels turning. He held up a hand.

“I'm not asking for a pity party. I just found that I thought better up on rooftops. We figured it out when I was still young enough to where it's been my go-to place for years now. Whenever I have a stakeout to do, I find a high place to watch from. Surveillance is easier from up here.” He gestured to the city. “This is where I was after Elizabeth Anders died. She was found right over there. That alley.”

She looked at him. “This is how you found out about the Suit. You sat up here and watched until you saw him.”

“His car, yeah. It was out of place here, but as soon as I saw it, I just knew. Like a kick to the gut every time.” He laughed. “Bruce always said it should have been a kick in the pants.”

She smiled back. “I think I'd agree with that, Grayson.”

“You wound me,” he said, but his grin didn't last when he looked down at the intersection. “Babs. The traffic cam. It's out again.”

She joined him on the edge of the roof. “You think he's here?”

“Maybe. Not sure it matters. All I could get him on right now would be solicitation, and that's not enough.”

“It would stop him from hurting the next prostitute he picked up.”

“But would it stop him from killing the one after that?” Dick asked, looking down at the street. “I thought it would be easier with a badge, that I could do something about this for once, but I'm standing up here, and I'm still just as helpless as I was the first time Bruce took me with him on a case.”

“No,” she said, coming up to stand next to him. “We're going to get this guy. I don't care what it takes. We _will_ get him.”

Dick looked at her. “Bruce said that to me once. I believed him, and I want to believe you. I just... know better than to do that.”

* * *

Barbara checked her results again. She knew what they said, and she wished they were different. She wanted _something_ to go on, something that was more than Dick's instincts and her own, some kind of proof. She trusted science. She knew its rules and its logic, and she had always valued them. She knew that it would come through for her—there had to be some trace of this guy besides his car—and she was going to find it.

She was also going to have to kick a certain detective's ass because it wasn't hard to see that he was avoiding her. He hadn't been down in her lab for days, not since he showed her that rooftop. She hadn't thought that he would be the sort to run, not when he'd pushed himself so hard working on the first two killings, before he even knew about the others, but she didn't think he'd been able to do whatever he'd intended to do on that rooftop. He'd had a purpose in bringing her out there, but he'd lost it, and when he did, he'd shut down on her.

Crime hadn't stopped—Dick had other cases, but that should have given him _more_ reason to stop and see her, not less.

She shook her head. She had plenty of work to keep her busy, and she should be working any of a dozen other cases instead of this one. She gave it more of her time than any of the others, but then there were other cops working those cases. These girls had only had her until a few days ago when Dick joined her.

They deserved more.

She leaned back in her chair. Wait. Dick had said he'd been able to uncover five shell companies concealing the identity of the car's owner. She did a quick check—Dick was in the building somewhere. The network saw that tablet of his, and with a bit of work—Grayson had better security than she expected—she got into his files, finding his research on the shell companies. He'd gotten from five to eight, but he'd stopped in the middle of digging deeper. Judging from the typos, he'd done the last of this just before exhaustion caught up with him.

She smiled to herself before transferring the information and letting her own skills take over. She had access to a lot more than Dick did, even with his badge, and while his accomplishments were impressive and slightly illegal—she had a feeling he'd always toe that line since he was raised by a private eye and not a cop—she could do better.

She started her search, fingers flying across the keyboard. Vista Unlimited became National Distribution became Wildfield Corp became Destiny Limited became Magnus International. Finally. Magnus International had an actual person on its ownership papers.

She pulled up the man's information and held in a smile. There. She had a name for Dick's Suit. It might not be him, but he was a start. His information was too perfect, created for a cover and good if no one looked close at it.

Tony Zucco. That was the real name of Magnus' CEO, though ownership papers claimed that he was Anton Markos, a businessman without a black mark on his reputation.

She sent the details to Dick's tablet and headed upstairs.

* * *

“Ooh, lookie here, boys. The rookie's got some pull. He got the batgirl out of her cave,” Kowlinski cat-called as Barbara came into the squad room, already cursing whatever fate had lead to him being on still on duty when she went to find Dick as well as the one that had put his desk across the row from Dick's. She didn't want to hear this. “Hey, Grayson, how's it feel to have a vampire lover? That why you're always exhausted?”

“Bet she is,” one of the others chimed in, and Barbara glared over at him before reaching Dick's desk. She didn't see any marks on him, but how the hell did he sleep through this kind of crap?

“Grayson,” she said. “I have something for you.”

“Look's like the rookie's gonna get laid. You know, if you're trying to make rank by going with the former commissioner's daughter, you might want to rethink that. She's got a nasty bite.”

“Shut up, Kowlinski.”

“Just warning the kid. He's not really up to taking care of you properly.”

She forced herself to ignore it. She could put in another grievance with human resources, which would be ignored, or she could take a private revenge later. She'd do both, but right now, she needed a live body that had some semblance of a brain. “Dick.”

His eyes half-opened, and he muttered something that was not in a language she knew.

“Come on, Dick. I wouldn't have figured you for a light sleeper.”

“He's not,” Hewitt said. He was more human than half the squad, but that didn't say much for him. “You should probably take him down to your cave or something because the guy we arrested earlier was high, and the rookie had a hard time taking him down.”

“Got taken down a few times himself,” Kowlinski said, enjoying that enough to make her go beyond messing with his electronic devices to something a lot more painful when she exacted her revenge. “Gonna need to watch your claws when you get him into bed, Batgirl. Poor rookie wouldn't last more than a few—”

The pen thwacked into the cubicle wall, bouncing in place where it jutted out next to Kowlinski's ear. He stared at it, mouth gaping open a few times.

“Damn, Grayson, where'd you learn to throw like that?” Hewitt demanded.

“Circus,” Dick said, an edge to his voice. He let out a breath, and Barbara frowned, not thinking he'd been with them in the same room when he'd thrown it. He looked at her, frowning, and she knew she was right—he hadn't known she was there a moment ago. “Babs?”

“Tablet,” she told him, and he dug it out, signing on and opening up the files she'd sent him.

He stared at the picture of Zucco, skin losing color.

“Dick?”

He closed down the document and closed his eyes. “Remind me not to throw things after a junkie busts up my ribs. That was a bad idea.”

“Come on, idiot. Let's get you to a doctor.”

“I'm fine.”

“You just said you weren't.”

He groaned.

* * *

Sitting in the hospital waiting room, Dick mentally kicked himself for blaming his reaction on an injury. It was the best cover he'd had, especially when he was mostly out of it, but he knew better than that. Barbara wasn't going to let him leave until a doctor treated him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He let out a breath. Did Bruce already know about what she'd uncovered? He always seemed to know this crap, even when he was more drunk than sober. Dick could look forward to another visit from him soon.

More of his past coming in to crash down on him.

“I love that it takes almost an hour to get you seen even when there's a possibility that you're bleeding internally.”

“This is Gotham,” Dick reminded her. “People die here a lot. The hospitals all have their hands full. You want faster service, you go to Alfred.”

“Your guardian?”

“No.” Dick grimaced. He shouldn't have brought up Alfred, either. “But the man was a field medic once upon a time, and he would already have looked me over by now.”

“Then why didn't you just go to him earlier? Did you have to be a macho idiot and pretend that you weren't hurt?”

“I've had worse.”

She nodded. “I've seen a scar or two, but you know better than this, and if you ever pull a stunt like this on my watch, you will regret it. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Is Alfred the one you go to for the PTSD or is that something you ignore, too?”

“I don't have—”

“The pen in the wall. Even Kowlinski knows that was overkill,” she said. Her expression softened. “Where were you really?”

“Let's just say Bruce made a lot of enemies and leave it at that,” Dick said, getting to his feet. Her hand caught his arm, but he just covered it with his. “Relax, Babs. I just figure the lecture I'll get from Alfred will be a whole lot faster than waiting for a doctor here, and I'd rather be looking for this guy you found.”

“Tony Zucco.”

Dick nodded. “He's been free for too long already.”

About twenty years too long, but he wasn't about to go into that with her. He was still hoping to avoid discussing it with Bruce.


End file.
